A Series of Fortunate Summers
by Hiddlesybatched
Summary: Sherlolly kid!lock. They meet on holiday and over the years slowly fall in love. WIP.
1. I Met You in the Summer

So I'm on holiday and got hit with this and the cuteness was too much to handle so I wrote it. It will span from age six to adulthood! (Rating *may* change ;) )

* * *

Molly bounced up and down in her seat, willing the car to get there already.

"Ma, are we there yet? We've been driving for HOURS!"

"Not yet, sweetheart. Just half an hour left until we see the sea!"

Molly squealed happily, gazing out of the window as if sheer will power would make the time pass quicker and draw the sea to her.

Soon enough, her mum wound down the window and the small family car was filled with the sounds and smells of the ocean, though she couldn't see it yet. She smiled wide enough to hurt her cheeks, so rubbed them thoughtfully, wondering if she would make friends there, and how many shells Ma would let her take home this year.

She hoped she would be allowed lots and lots, of both friends and shells.

The road became rough and jolty as they left the main road in favour of small, weather beaten ones that knackered the suspension and made little Molly feel sick, so she stuck her head out of the window and shrieked loudly when the bright blue expanse of water met her excited gaze.

"Ma, Ma! Look! It's so big! I bet it's at least," she paused to think, sticking her tongue out and playing with a lock of hair, "I bet it's at least ten miles wide! And fifteen metres deep!"

Her parents chuckled, sharing a glance,

"Well, honey, you're not wrong there."

Her dad's light brown eyes met hers in the mirror, the excitement within them matching his tiny daughters'.

She stuck her head out the window again, bringing her little doll, Fleur ( she had been unable to say the doll's whole name, Fleuretta, so they had shortened it to Fleur, which she had also struggled with, calling her Fur for the two years she had her), to the window too.

"Look, Fleur! It's the sea! Do you know, there are whales, and dolphins, and fishies, and SHARKS in the sea! And star fish! And crabs! Ma, do you think we'll see any?"

Her mum looked around and put her finger to her lips thoughtfully, an action copied by Molly, and smiled.

"I bet we'll see lots and lots of fish, Molly, and birds, and shells."

"YAY!"

In her excitement, her grip on Fleur slipped as the doll went tumbling out of the window, her bright smile seeming to drop from her stitched face.

"No! Ma, da, STOOOOP!"

Molly burst into noisy tears as her dad pulled over to the side of the road, and turned to face her.

"What happened? Molly! Stop crying and tell me!"

She sniffled periodically.

"I let Fleur look out of the window and, and, and she's gooooooooone."

She dissolved back into tears, snot running in thick streams down her face.

Her Pa had started the car again, prompting a scream from his young daughter, who was afraid he was going to drive off without Fleur.

"Molly. We are going to turn around and get it. I promise."

They turned, drove and found her, nestled in the arms of a peculiar looking little boy, with a round little face, a snub nose, adorable little blonde curls, piercingly intelligent blue eyes and an air of calm detachment.

Molly ran out of the car, and came to an uncertain stop in front of the boy.

"Excuse me, please could I have Fleur back?"

He looked up from stroking her hair, startled to be caught with a girls toy by a stranger.

"I found it. Just here. What were you doing with her, letting her fall out of your window? That was stupid."

Molly smiled at him, understanding he was embarrassed.

"I was letting her see the sea. We're very excited. Never seen the sea before. Please can I have her back? I love her, you see."

The boy smiled tentatively back, then handed her the doll.

"It's nice to meet you, and Fleur."

"I'm Molly. Molly Hooper." She grinned, wiping the leftover snot on her sleeve.

He held out his hand for her to shake.

She took it.

"Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

The rest of their holiday passed uneventfully, with Molly and her parents squealing as they paddled in the cold Cornish sea, gorging on ice cream and pancakes, having fresh fish and chips each night and Molly constantly on the lookout for her little blonde friend.

Her parents were grateful for the boy's parents assistance, as the father had seen the doll fall out and had pulled over, little Sherlock insisting that he needed to examine her.

For his part, he was intrigued by the snot faced little girl, with her hair in plaits with yellow bows and wearing a pretty matching dress. She had clearly been upset at the loss, but hadn't minded his holding it. She had also borne his ire and rudeness, and been nice in return.

He was learning a new trick, to build a mind ship, so he gave her her own cabin, and hoped against hope he would see her again.

(The room was yellow, with a thick ocean blue carpet like the sea, with the doll, yellow dresses and ribbons, small teeth, a chest in the same colour as her eyes- a rich mahogany- and a small notebook where he had written some songs for her already.)


	2. You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine

Two years had passed, and they were going to the beach for Molly's eighth birthday. The excitement of two years ago had dimmed only slightly, as she strained to see the sea from her seat in the middle of the car. She had her friend, Mary, with her, and in the middle seat sat Fleur, a little more battered and better dressed than before.

"There's going to be candy floss and pancakes, and fish in batter and popcorn!"

Mary sighed, wishing she would shut up.

"Oh, and we'll be going to the Eden Project! And crab fishing! And then, to a theme park!"

"I don't like any of those things."

Molly glowered, closing her mouth and folding her arms over her chest. She was staring out of the window, trying not to cry when she recognised the steely blue gaze of a boy sat staring out of his window of the car next to them.

"Ma! Ma! It's the boy! It's Sherlock!"

She waved enthusiastically, grinning widely as a spark of recognition went through him and he waved back, turning to say something animatedly to the older boys sat next to him. He turned back to her, mouthing;

"You staying the week?"

She smiled and nodded, and held up eight fingers.

"You?"

He held up ten, then four, and smiled.

She frowned slightly then reached for her pad of paper, and her pen, then wrote:

"Are you staying in Newquay?"

He nodded his head.

"I'm not. Got a cottage in Looe!"

He smiled and nodded his understanding. Then got his own paper and wrote "see if your parents will let you come to Newquay on Saturday, at two. We can all have a meal!"

"Ma, on Saturday, could we meet up with Sherlock and his family?"

He was writing again.

"At the... Newgate hotel... We'd need to say we were with the Holmes family... At two thirty for lunch. Please?"

She tuned her big brown eyes beseechingly towards her mother, praying they would.

"Are you sure they're all right with it, sweetheart? We wouldn't want to be a bother. We are basically strangers, after all!"

She looked worriedly over at the other car, which had started to overtake but had slowed again at Sherlock's insistence.

She wrote again.

"Are you sure? Ma doesn't want to be a bother."

He nodded furiously, and gestured for her to hurry up.

"Ma, he says its fine! Come on, please? "

"Okay, but if there is nothing there you like, don't complain."

Mary scowled in the seat next to Fleur, muttering about fancy boys and annoying girls.

"I don't like posh food. I only like chips and nuggets, Mrs Hooper. "

"Well, Mary, you will be going without food for a while, wont you? No nuggets here, I am afraid."

Molly smiled, sending a smug look at Mary as she wrote.

"I'm coming. There will be four of us, as I've been told to leave Fleur in the car. I don't see why I can't leave Mary instead though."

Sherlock laughed in the other car, then waved goodbye. The car drove off, with Molly waving excitedly as it went. She was happier than she could ever remember being, her pigtails wriggling as she bounced in her seat, kissing Fleur on her stuffed cheek.

Mary grabbed the note pad from the seat, reading the last message quickly.

"Molly! That's so mean. I'm telling your mum that you said you'd rather leave me in the car than your raggedy old doll!"

Molly stared at her friend, tears welling in her eyes before she pushed them away and went pale in anger. Suddenly, she launched herself at Mary, pulling her thin ponytail and digging her nails into the sensitive skin of her scalp, causing Mary to squeal loudly.

"You take that back! Do not call Fleur old, or raggedy! She's perfect; you're just a stupid blonde doll hater!"

Ma hid a smile as she turned and pulled the two girls apart. Both were panting heavily, a large red hand print visible on Molly's face from Mary, blood from a scratch trickling down her forehead. Molly held a thin chunk of Mary's hair gripped in her hand, Mary's face red and wet with tears.

"Girls! Both of you are at fault. Molly, you should not have attacked Mary. Mary, why would you insult the doll? Molly, really, would you really want to take Fleur in instead of Mary?"

Molly folded her arms across her chest, seeming not to notice the blood on her face.

"Yes. She hasn't stopped moaning all day, and won't get excited! Why did you have to invite her?!"

"It's not like I wanted to be here! I don't even like you!"

Molly's Ma froze and fixed Mary with a icy stare.

"Perhaps we should bring you home then, Mary."

"Please do! And I will tell mum all about you attacking me and you will get in so much trouble!"

"Mary! Joe, please bring us to the house. I will drive Mary home and hopefully her parents will meet us some of the way."

The car was tense as they drove on, Molly only perking up as the sea came into view.

The house that year was small, but cosy. Left in the house with just Fleur and her daddy, she explored her room, delighted when she found a hidden room on the other side of the wardrobe.

"It's like Narnia," she said to herself, laughing delightedly at the hammock that hung from the ceiling, the thick, fluffy white carpet that made it look like she was walking on clouds, the turquoise walls with little white wispy clouds and birds painted on adding to the overall effect. She turned out the light, which hung like the sun in the centre of the room, and suddenly a multitude of brilliant little lights like stars shone across the ceiling, a glow in the dark moon shining on the wall, which had been invisible when the light was on. She was awestruck, turning and staring all around her, her breath taken as she took in the beauty of the room.

"Woooooow."

She ran out of the room and grabbed Fleur, her bags, and called her daddy, then changed her mind and told him to stay where he was.

She left her clothes in the boring room, as well as Sheep, her faithful and slightly-less-loved-than-Fleur sheepdog teddy, on the bed and went back into the hidden room. There were fluffy white bean bags dotted around the floor and a big chest full of dressing up clothes, with fairy wings, pirate hats and hooks, a mermaid tail, dragon wings and snout, princess dresses and everything else she would want.

A small dolls house sat in one corner, beautifully painted with tiny little roses painted around the door and a little girl doll leaning out of the window.

Soon though, she heard her daddy calling for her, so ran out of the room into her proper one and started to unpack, flinging her clothes into the chest of drawers and her shoes under the bed.

When her dad entered, she was just hanging her dressing gown inside the wardrobe, her plaits askew and her cheeks flushed. He tutted and took out a fine linen hanky, licking it (which she squirmed at) and dabbing the scratch on her head gently.

"Molls, you have to learn to subdue that temper. Mary didn't mean any harm, not really. I don't think she understands what Fleur means to you. Please promise me you'll learn?"

Molly nodded solemnly, not wanting to upset anyone again.

"Good girl. I love you, Molly moo."

"I love you too, Papa poo."

They grinned at each other, then her daddy picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, running outside and dropping her into the pool in the garden.

She shrieked as she hit the water, expecting it to be cold, laughing when she realised it wasn't, and splashed her daddy happily.

When her Ma came back, they were curled up together on the sofa watching a documentary on jelly fish and eating enough ice cream to feed a large army of ants. (Because she had heard that they could eat more than triple their bodyweight in a single day, though she wasn't a hundred percent sure whether she should trust Benjamin Coldwallop. She also didn't know _what_ a hundred percent was, but Ma said it all the time so it sounded right.)

* * *

Saturday could not come quick enough for Molly, three days flying past filled with swimming, crab fishing and walking, leaving her exhausted when she got home to her secret sky room.

Every night, she would be tucked into bed by Ma, would wait an hour and then creep out of bed in her My Little Pony nightie to the room, gazing at the "stars", making up stories about them and imagining herself as an angel, asleep in the clouds.

Every morning she would wake up and run back to bed, convinced Ma had no idea about the room. It was her secret room.

Finally, Saturday came. She woke early, excited beyond words as she hurried to find her prettiest dress with matching shoes. It was yellow, knee length and covered in a myriad of purple butterflies at the bottom and around the small sleeves. It had a small tie to make into a bow at the back and she felt like a princess in it. The shoes were gold and purple, glittery and she loved them.

Running to her Ma, she jumped all over her, impatient to go and find the hotel.

"Ma, Ma, Ma! Daaaaaaa! Time to go! We need to make sure we know where we are going!"

"Molly, it's half seven. Go back to sleep..."

"But maaaaaa..."

"Sleep, Molly!"

Nothing would dampen her mood, so she simply went back to her hidden room, taking the fairy wings out and "flying" around the room, narrating stories of her rescuing a daring pirate that had dark blonde curls and beautiful blue eyes from an evil crocodile, who was dead set on eating him whole!

Three hours later, she ran back into her parents' room, wings safely stored back in the chest and the cupboard door closed perfectly. She had her hairbrush clasped tightly in one hand, two hair bands and two purple ribbons in the other. Her mother's hair was swept back in an elegant pony tail, a little blue clip holding her fringe to the side. Her father stood uncomfortably to one side, gazing lovingly at his wife as he fiddled with his tie.

"Mummy, could you please do my hair in two bunches? With the ribbons too, please."

She smiled, showing off a missing tooth, and skipped closer, holding the hair items out.

"Oh Molly! You've lost another tooth? When?"

"Last night! But I hid it from the tooth fairy, cause I want to see if coke really does dissolve teeth."

Her parents smiled indulgently, sharing a look that she really didn't understand.

"Anyway, please? I want to look pretty for today."

Her Pa swept down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, whispering in her ear as he did so, "I think you're the prettiest girl in the whole wide world already."

She giggled, pushing him away as her Ma began to brush.

"You have to, cause you're my daddy."

Her mum mock huffed, pulling the brush away.

"So you don't think Pa should have said that I am the most pretty girl in the world?"

Molly laughed again at her mother's silliness.

"No, mummy! I'm the prettiest GIRL in Pa's world, but you are the most beautifullest WOMAN in Pa's world," she explained, as though she was the parent and was explaining something of extreme simplicity to her own child.

Ma resumed her steady strokes through Molly's hair, smiling softly.

"Molly, dear, that is quite possibly the very nicest thing anyone has ever said to me whilst being almost brutally honest."

She pulled the hair through the ties and curled it slightly around her fingers, tying the ribbons around the bands in two perfect bows, which Molly hoped would really impress Sherlock and his family. She really wanted them to like her.

She leant up for a kiss from Ma, giggling when she missed and pecked her nose instead. She pulled Ma close for a hug and then skipped off, getting the sun cream for her nose and cheeks, as they always burned.

In the car, Molly fiddled nervously with the end of her left bunch, allowing the dark blonde hair to curl cutely, and chewing her lip lightly. Ma leant back and rubbed her leg soothingly, reminding her that they could back out if she wanted to, and that she was sure Sherlock would understand if she didn't come.

"No, Ma. I can't let him down. I promised him!"

At the time, she didn't realise that that would set the tone for the rest of her life.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sherlock was squirming in his seat as Mummy ran a wet brush through his darkening curls, trying in vain to subdue their unruliness.

"Promise me you will behave, Sherlock. No rudeness. No deductions. No storming from the room."

He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Mummy. I will be better behaved than I have ever been, as I would rather like to keep this one."

She smiled thinly, knowing how mercurial her son's mood could be.

"As long as you do, darling."

Putting the brush down, she kissed the top of his head and left. Once the door clicked shut, Sherlock went to ruffle his hair back up, but thought better of it, thinking that perhaps Molly would like him neat, and he could always ruffle them later anyway. It would definitely be more dramatic that way! He smiled widely, a true, happy smile that lit up his entire face and transformed the unusually morose little boy into an almost cherubic ray of sunshine.

His foot tapped impatiently as he tried to imagine her. He was certain that she was taller than him, her hair would be in two plaits perhaps, ribbons were a certainty, hopefully she would be wearing yellow. He was truly nervous, afraid she wouldn't like him, or would be put off by his family, since he was painfully aware that none of them, except perhaps Daddy, were normal. Both of his brothers had friends periodically, but those fragile relationships never lasted long. He himself had made a friend at school earlier in the year, John Watson, and whilst his friendship with him was going well so far, he worried that it would go the same way as the others.

Over his short life, he had only had one friend, James, who had then turned into a horrid little boy who liked to experiment on living things. Unlike Sherlock, he had no compunction over killing.

One friend in eight years. Two counting John.

He sighed, the bright smile dimming as he moved to the window, staring down at every small red car that went past, frowning as two o'clock came nearer and the car hadn't appeared.

Unlike the Hoopers, the Holmes' were staying in the Newgate Hotel, a very snobbish hotel in the posher side of Newquay. He hated it, as he couldn't run or play like he wanted, nor was he allowed to slide down the polished marble banisters. He liked to imagine staying like the Hoopers, in a small cosy cottage in a less "desirable" part of the country, staying awake until three and gorging on chocolate and strawberries and "common" food. He rather thought she had more fun.

As always, he was right.

"Sherlock! Mycroft! Sherrington! Come here please, lunch is in fifteen minutes and we need to descend to ensure we are not late. Sherlock, is your friend here yet?"

He sighed and took one last look out of the window, a blinding smile breaking across his face as he recognised their car pulling into the car park. If he ran, they could meet her at the bottom!

(He stored the make, model and registration of her parents' car in the notebook in Molly's room.)

He walked out quickly, kissing Mummy's cheek and bouncing on the balls of his feet, unconsciously conveying his urgency. She was here!

Out front, Molly nibbled on her lip, holding tightly to both Ma and Pa's hands as they stared up at the beautiful façade of the hotel in front of them.

"Should we go in? We don't want to be late..."

Molly flashed her Pa a nervous smile and tugged their hands forwards, pulling them in.

The black marble floor they stepped on to looked like a great black lake, veined here and there with brilliant silver streaks. It was polished so smooth that the vaulted ceiling was reflected in all its intricate detail, and Molly could see her terrified face reflected upside down when she looked down. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. Great white pillars lines the walls, doors leading off here and there, as she stood looking around her in awe, wishing she could take her shoes off, change into her pj's and fluffy socks and see how slidey the floor was. She envied Sherlock for living for a time in such a beautiful place, but thought of her secret room and decided that perhaps they were better off.

All the adults looked very stern.

Ma and Pa had gone up to the desk, stating they were with the Holmes family, both becoming flushed for some reason. She thought they might be embarrassed, like she was when she fell out of the hammock the first night there, even though she had been alone and no one had seen.

They were coming over, Ma's face sad as they seemed to try to work out how to say something.

"Molly, we are really sorry but it looks like they forgot about-"

"Sherlock!"

"Molly!"

The patter of excited footsteps on the marble of the staircase as the boy ran down made Ma and Pa turn, uncertainty written across their faces as Molly ran to Sherlock, both coming to an awkward stop, Sherlock blushing as he took her in, before Molly threw herself at him, enveloping him in his first female hug, aside from Mummy. He returned it.

He felt warm, like his face was on fire but his chest seemed to glow, making him smile at her, completely unguardedly.

"Wow."

"What?"

"You're beautiful."

"Thanks, Sherlock... When you smile you're beautiful too."

She smiled shyly at him, one hand coming up to play with her hair until he took hold of it, pulling her to meet his parents.

"Mummy, Daddy, this is Molly Hooper. She's an only child, lives in south Somerset, hasn't got any pets and she's my friend. I think."

He looked at her, glowing with happiness, as her large brown eyes widened in wonder. Mummy and Daddy waited almost nervously, hoping she wouldn't be put off by his 'other-ness'.

"How did you know that? That's amazing!"

He blushed. The only other people who had felt his deductions were positive had been John and Mummy and Daddy.

"Thank you. I just sort of, uhm, observe."

"Can you teach me?"

"Maybe!"

As usual, their parents interrupted.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Molly, dear. And these must be your parents?"

She smiled at the tall woman, who had clearly given Sherlock more than his fair share of her striking looks.

"Yes, Mrs Holmes, this is Ma and Pa."

They stepped forward, talking about boring parent things as Sherlock introduced her to his brothers, Sherrington and Mycroft, Mycroft considerably more friendly, possibly due to his being closer in age to her than the older brother.

She found herself stealing looks at Sherlock, confused as to why she did so, but pleased when she caught him doing the same. He didn't let go of her hand until they sat down to eat, the parents seeming to be very engrossed in talking about the benefits of one child versus many, whilst she regaled all three with her stories of pirates and fairies, interspersed with true takes of her finding dead things on the beach.

Sherlock in particular seemed thrilled about that aspect of her nature, especially when he realised she liked to bury the dead, instead of just poking them. He asked her questions constantly, and answered hers, so before they new it they were sat on the beach with ice cream they couldn't remember ordering and hands sticky but joined. The sun blazed in the sky as the gulls swooped around them, the wind mussing Sherlock's curls and causing one of her ribbons to fly out of her hair in the wind. She shrieked and ran after it, dragging Sherlock with her accidentally until he let go and sprinted ahead, catching it in his fist just as a large wave crashed into them both. Gasping at the cold, they laughed as they waded out of the surf, ice creams forgotten in the sand, gulls already converging on them as the two children leaned on one another.

Sherlock tied the ribbon back in her hair, letting his fingers linger on her cheek as she thanked him. Mustering all his courage, he screwed up his face and pressed his salty, ice creamy lips to hers and pulled back, breaking back into giggles at her dumbstruck expression, which caused her to join in.

"SH...Sherlock, what was that for?"

"I wanted to. You don't mind."

She laughed again, poking his bony shoulder.

"You're lucky you're right."

* * *

For the rest of the week, he was at her side constantly, and on her birthday he woke her up at seven with toast thrown at her face, as he wore the pirate's costume from the chest, handing her the fairy wings and a couple of poorly wrapped presents with her name written in big glittery purple and gold writing. Her parents lingered in the doorway, a fact she found unspectacular until she realised she was still in her hidden room.

"Ma! How did you know about this?!"

Her parents smiled, sharing a look.

"Molly, why do you think we chose this one?"

"Oooooh."

Sherlock laughed, a sound she would happily listen to forever if he'd let her.

"Happy birthday, Molly Hooper."

He leaned up to kiss her cheek, smearing the jam that had landed there from the toast and giggling.

They opened her presents in her parent's room, starting with her grandparents' and finishing with Sherlock's, which made him jump up and down with impatience.

All of her presents were lovely, as she got a new dress from her granny, a hair band from nanny, some dolls from Ma and Pa, and Sherlock's parents had even gotten her a sweet little bracelet, with a tiny pearl on it.

Sherlock had gotten her three things, a new dress for Fleur (because "she is always forgotten on your birthday, even though it's her birthday too."), a book on the inner workings of nearly every animal, that she loved, and a charm bracelet, that only had a fairy and a pirate on it. Her eyes welled up at that point, and she threw herself at him again, hugging him tightly and thanking him profusely.

"And, uhm, next year, or whenever, I can add to it, or you can..."

The back of his neck was flushed an red, pleasure making him flush as she continued to hold him close.

"I won't add anything. Nothing at all unless it's from you. Promise."

They spent the day exploring rock pools and dissecting a large dead crab the gulls had ignored, then went to the small amusement park on the pier. She didnt want the day to end, and went to bed smiling, looking forward to the next birthday.

* * *

A/n: thank you to everyone who has favourited or followed or even been nice enough to leave a review! You're all lovely, and I didn't even advertise it ;) also, for any of you who are familiar with my works, and are wondering what in earth has possessed me to be writing HAPPY things, I guess the summer spirit for to me at last...

(I have also just been informed that this is my longest ever chapter of any fanfic I have written. WHOOOOOOOOOO.)


	3. The Rollercoaster Summer part 1

Okay so this is a woefully short chapter that seemed best to leave where it is :) however, this year of her life is to be separated into two (or more) chapters! As usual, I do not own anything other than the idea (and the place is basically where I spent the last week so nice fresh real imagery) and believe me if I could make money writing cute sherlolly I would. (Also thank you everyone who is following/fave-ing/reviewing, it makes me smile, and when I smile, a character lives for just a little bit longer!)

* * *

Her ninth birthday passed without her seeing Sherlock, as did her tenth, eleventh and twelfth. She began to think she had imagined the strange little boy who loved her stories and fascination with death, but then she remembered the kiss and knew there was no way she could have imagined him. On the days when that wasn't enough, she retrieved the charm bracelet from her jewellery box and held it to her lips, hoping he was happy. On each birthday, she had received a small charm to add, so now she had an otter, a dolphin, a cat and an angel in addition to the fairy and pirate, with little notes written to explain his thoughts when choosing them. The angel had touched her, as he had written that when he thought back on their holiday together he was convinced that she was an angel sent to him, as the final five days she was there had been heavenly. However, he never left a return address, so she couldn't even send him anything back. She knew his birthday was in December, somewhere near the start, just when the frost was starting to truly nip at fingers and toes, creeping silently across windows, leaving them sightless come morning.

She had even looked in the phone book for any Holmes', to no avail. At least, none that looked right. There was a Margaret Holmes, a Johnathon Holmes, two Micheals, a Rebecca and finally a Violet Holmes.

She had half an idea that it might be the last one, but had been too unsure to risk it.

Until now, that is. She had decided that this birthday, she was going to call all the Holmes'. One after another if needs be, until she found her Holmes'.

She gazed thoughtfully out of the window, twirling a lock of light brown hair around her finger and running through her plan. The family were in Wales this year, instead of Cornwall, and she had been furious at first. She had insisted on going back again just in case he was there.

But Ma had insisted that if he was, they'd probably have missed him anyway. Pa had backed her up, surprisingly, saying that Wales at that time of year was far nicer than Cornwall, and much more sparsely populated. They were renting a little house on a hill, with the most heavenly scented honeysuckle growing all around the windows, angled to catch the utmost light from sun rise to set, catching the last burning rays before the sky lit up in reds and pinks and oranges. It was her favourite time of day.

Just then, though, she was travelling by bus to Oakwood, a small theme park somewhat more inland than the house (so she could ACTUALLY get reliable phone signal) and she couldn't wait. The safe excitement always thrilled her, as did the slight fear of death that accompanied the larger rides.

She realised then that she thought about Sherlock a lot. The second she thought about the excitement running through her veins, filling her with dread and exhilaration, she had thought about what he would have thought of it. He would probably call them boring and move to the lake to study the wildlife there.

It was on this thought that she arrived to Oakwood. Grimacing at the sight of the queue that had already formed, she joined the line and waited, still lost in her thoughts.

During the past four years, she had grown only a foot, barely reaching five foot two. Her hair was longer and darker, hanging straight to her waist (other than when she plaited it- always one plait now.) and her pale, almost pallid skin had mellowed to a soft, but still pale, rosy pink. Still stick thin, though, she always felt gangly and ungainly with her fiends, sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb against their tans and blonde curls and big blue eyes. She knew she would never compare.

Thing is, Sherlock had called her beautiful.

And every time she thought back to that day, she felt little warm butterflies flutter from her stomach to her heart then through her arteries and veins, filling ever fibre of her being with a kind of giddy happiness. It gave her confidence in herself.

She felt that now, standing alone in the sunshine in a queue in west Wales, the sun and her precious memory warming her. She could feel her cheeks flush red, thankful for the sunglasses Ma had insisted on her wearing, as they covered most of her face, and thus her blush.

She barely registered moving into the park, vaguely deciding to walk in instead of taking the kiddies' train. For heaven's sake, she was nearly thirteen years old.

However, she couldn't contain her excitement once inside. She watched as the largest log flume she had ever seen came racing down its slope, drenching both riders and observers alike. A wide smile stretched across her cheeks as she tilted her head up and back, allowing the sun to bathe her pale face in its glorious warmth.

Everywhere, people were screaming as laughing, gulls screeching as they fought over tidbits of food. She jumped back, terrified, as a particularly large gull, complete with facial scarring and hamburger clamped between its vicious looking (she wasn't sure what to call the two parts of its beak. Jaws? Beaks?)...whatevers... Flew right past her head, clipping the top of her hair. Startled laughter bubbled out of her.

Eventually, she calmed enough to seek out a map. She knew she didn't fancy getting wet, so ruled out the giant flume. Really, sitting shivering and wet on a fifty minute bus ride back was not high on her to do list.

Being the nearly thirteen year old she was, she opted to skip the kiddies rides, except for the Tinkerbell ride. That looked fun.

She headed in any direction, vowing to try everything at least once. Except the log. And the droppy one.

She may have an iron constitution around death and decay, but put her in a situation involving drops and she reverted back to her three year old self, who had fallen from the kitchen counter (no one was quite sure how she had even managed to get up there) and broken her arm, breaking the skin. Ma had apparently fainted at the sight.

The blood hadn't been an issue even then. The pain... A little bit more so. The feeling of abject terror and anticipation of pain that accompanied the free falling sensation had affected her ever since.

Shaking herself out of the remembered pain, she focussed back on the task at hand. By her reckoning, that left her about half the park left, having ruled out two large rides and all bar one kid's ride.

Making her way uncertainly towards the second largest ride, she observed the reactions of those on it. Whilst mixed, they seemed mostly positive... She mustered her courage and joined the surprisingly small queue, smiling nervously at the attendant. He gave her a reassuring smile in return, and squeezed her shoulder as he checked her seat belt and bars were secure.

The small contact was surprisingly pleasant.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the ride began its (to her) agonisingly slow descent. Suddenly, it jerked to a stop, so her eyes flew open and she let out a frightened squeak when she saw how far the drop was.

She really hope that it was a part of the ride, this stop.

She jiggled her leg nervously, impatient to get this over with, when the attendant came past her, smiling at her again and announcing that some selfish git at the front had his phone out.

She could have slapped the idiot. As it was, he got a verbal slapping from a curly haired boy sat behind him, two rows in front of her.

"Clearly he felt the need to show off his state of the art iPhone to try and impress his sister's friend, a task that had it not backfired spectacularly already would surely have resulted in her breaking three of his fingers and possibly his nose."

The boy next to him nudged him and murmured, " not good Sherlock..."

As this played out, Molly sat up straight in her chair, working out the probability of them being in the same COUnTRY, choosing the SAME park to go to on the same DAY, never mind choosing the same ride at the same time too.

It had to be a thousand to one. Maybe even a million.

His name escaped her lips on a breathy exhale that she was sure he hadn't heard but then he straightened and turned and looked right at her and her heart was in her mouth, she was certain he could hear it or see it attempt to escape through her chest as she froze, looking at him for the first time in years.

"Molly..."

His friend looked round, smiling blandly at her then looking at Sherlock with concern etched across his face.

"Wait. Molly. Wait? Molly? THE Molly? The Molly you..."(he whispered the last bit, as though "kiss" was a dirty word. It probably was to Sherlock.) "kissed?"

Sherlock was still looking at her, like he couldn't reconcile the little blonde thing with bunches with the slight, timid girl she had become. He nodded anyway.

She tugged on the end of her plait absently where it fell over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off him. Lord how he had changed!

His cheeks had hollowed, already losing their childish roundness, his cheekbones protruding at a sharp angle, his curls softening them slightly. Those too were different, almost jet black and longer, but beautiful. It was his eyes that held her transfixed, the playful glint having hardened into a calculating intelligence.

It caused her heart to clench painfully as she realised he was no longer the playful little boy she remembered.

But his eyes were so much more brilliant than she remembered too.

For his part, he was cataloguing every change in her, from the bony way her joints seemed to jut out of her skin to the soft blondeish highlights in her light brown hair. Her face, though, was still kind, still soft and caring, still his Molly's.

Finally, a smile broke forth from the gloom of his usual expression, lightening both their hearts as thy realised they still had an effect on one another.

She was about to say something when the ride jerked back into motion, forcing out a startled squeak as she readjusted in her seat.

She laughed and screamed the whole way around the track, enjoying it immensely... Though she was adamant to herself about the source being the ride, not Sherlock's exhilarated reactions. He seemed more alive than she could ever remember him, the cool calculation in his eyes warming to enjoyment and almost childishness again.

She loved it.

As a result, she didn't complain when she was dragged around the park, his friend (John, the mysterious John he mentioned once so long ago) following bemusedly (and a little jealously, she thought) behind them.

They went on a terrifying ride that had a drop that went more than 100 degrees and made them all black out at the end, and she loved every second, as Sherlock was a scared as she was and held a death grip on her hand the entire way around. Getting off, she had still felt faint so they had gone and gotten some food, John attempting to support her as her legs threatened to give way until Sherlock elbowed him firmly in the ribs and hissed something sounding strangely like " she's mine" at him, taking hold of her arm and pulling it around her shoulders, his hand resting on her waist.

After they ate, they went to the amusement area, to try their hands at "safe" gambling. To their surprise, Molly was excellent at it. In all the games, she one countless tickets, even managing to trick one of the " play til you win" games ( to win tickets to exchange for real prizes) into giving her five extra goes in addition to her original £1 go. However, after playing for twenty minutes straight, getting so many little bundles of tickets that she had to put them in her bag to hold them, they decided to check them in and see what they could win.

She didn't believe her eyes when she saw how many she had collected.

"Wow, Molly! Two thousand, three hundred and ninety six tickets?!"

John's face was flushed with pleasure and excitement, hoping she might let him share her prize. She could get anything.

But now her nerves returned. What would she say if they questioned how she had managed to get so many? They'd only been in the building for forty five minutes!

A gentle squeeze of her lower arm gave her a little bit of courage... Enough to get her over to the counter and hand the ticket over.

"Uhm, I, uhm, we have accumulated these, what can I get?"

She glanced at Sherlock, who was studying a glass case beside the counter. Within it, there were technical items for less than she had, so she decided then an there that she wanted an iPad.

Even then she still had nearly five hundred tickets left.

"Could I please have an iPad? And one of those tote bags? And three lollies? And... And maybe a slinky? And a... Thing of bubbles? How many will I have left?"

The assistant looked at the polite little girl with the two mischievous looking boys and sighed. She couldn't refuse them, as they hadn't vandalised or been disruptive... At all...

"You will have about fifty left, miss. You could get two more lollies?"

" Okay. Can they be purple please?"

They left that building somewhat lighter in their pockets, but laden with their goods, each sucking happily on a lollipop, even as Sherlock grumbled half heartedly about childishness and infantile instincts remaining even through adulthood.

The other two simply rolled their eyes as he sucked contentedly on it regardless.

Somehow, Sherlock and John managed to coax her on to the drop ride. She didn't let go of either of their hands the entire time, screwing her face up and not uttering a single sound until the ride was over, just running to the nearest toilet and vomiting violently. She was somewhat surprised to find Sherlock crouched next to her, holding the flyaway tendrils of her hair back from her heated face.

"Sorry, bad reaction..."

He smiled at her sadly.

" I'm sorry, Molly Hooper. Please forgive me, for not understanding the depth of your fear." She held her breath as he pressed his lips softly to her cheek, pulling back to gaze into her eyes, seeming to strip back the layers of her being down to her soul and it didn't look like he found her lacking.

He pulled her gently to his chest whilst sat on the floor of the girls' bathroom in a west welsh theme park, silently promising to never hurt or scare her like this again.


	4. The Rollercoaster summer part 2

Okay so you know I love you all, right? Well I'm working full time right now and can only write at night or on the bus to and from there so I apologise for late updates (on all my fics) and any grammatical and spelling errors (although some of them are deliberate in my attempts to write in a way similar to how I imagine them think). Thank you for your patience! (If anyone wants to volunteer their beta-ing services though...)

* * *

Half a hour, most of a packet of winegums, some awkwardly sung songs and two wet bums later, Sherlock and Molly emerged from the bathroom amid disapproving looks from many of the adults in attendance.

Sherlock merely gave them his best icy glare and made even the bravest of them turn and flee.

"Sherlock, they're not doing any harm..."

Sherlock scoffed and looked at her disbelievingly.

"Molly, we are twelve years old! The simple fact that they think our bodies are able to react that way belies their inherent stupidity with regards to basic human reproductive anatomy and as such they deserve my scorn. They should be happy I didn't say anything outright, they were basically sexualising to an outrageous degree two children!"

She chuckled lightly, scanning the crowd for John's dark blonde head.

"Oh Sherlock, never change."

He looked at her quizzically, one eyebrow quirking up in a practiced movement that she took great pleasure from imagining him staring in concentration in front of a mirror, perfecting his eyebrow quirk for a handy array of convenient expressions. This one was clearly meant to signify both mild amusement and confusion.

"Change is inevitable, Molly. Not even death can alter that fact, in fact, as you well know, death results in far greater physiological changes than life after the age of roughly seventeen. The body's energy is taken up with maintaining the bodily status quo after this age, whereas death removes the 'staying' aspect, allowing significant change to occur in a marvellously short time."

He stopped and looked at her properly again.

"Not good? John says I need to think before I speak, and perhaps reduce the morbidity, but I thought that you, with your interest in death and decay, would maybe if not like then at least appreciate this apparently unfortunate aspect of my personality. As it is something we share in common. Perhaps I misjudged..."

She laughed lightly and rested her hand against his shoulder lightly, giving him a reassuring smile and squeeze.

"That was perfectly good. You have no idea how difficult it is to find a person not intimidated, or frightened, or repulsed by my interests!"

They carried on their search, Sherlock reasoning that he was likely to be near or on a wet ride, taking advantage of their absence.

As usual, he was right. They found him dripping and grinning widely coming out of the log flume exit, practically bouncing as he walked over to them.

He was the only one to notice Molly had dropped her hand from Sherlock's shoulder and that he had in return captured it.

Contact was simply natural between them.

The rest of the day was spent basking in the sun, riding on all the dry rides (except_ that one) _numerous times and learning more about each others' lives.

John, it seemed, lived in Wales but had been sent to a boarding school in England after he had beaten up a boy bullying his older sister. Loyalty, it seemed, was his most defining feature, as well as sticking up for the underdog (which explained his befriending Sherlock within a day of meeting him, moving from his dorm into Sherlock's (where there were three conveniently empty beds in the four bed dorm) and defending him from both physical and emotional abuse, often at the cost of estrangement from the other boys.) Whilst Molly was horrified that he had to defend Sherlock, she was glad that he was there to do so, as she suspected that the hardening in his eyes had formed as a defence mechanism, a physical symptom of the hostility towards "normal" people he had begun to harbour as a result of ridicule and abuse. She had noticed his cutting remarks and brilliant deductions but could see that whilst he was merely being truthful, he often delivered them with the utmost venom, as brutally as possible.

The issue was that this meant people judged him even more harshly, adding "rude" to "freak".

It both saddened and angered her, that people refused to look beyond his hostile exterior.

And yet she couldn't help but be glad that she was one of them lucky few who did get to see beyond that icy exterior and touch the fragile child luring beneath the surface. Observing his interactions with John, she could see that most deductions came with a subtle look to him, as though gauging the situation through John's body language and expressions. The two friends would clearly do anything for each other and she was overjoyed that they had found each other. However, she couldn't help the slight edge of jealousy that speared through her thoughts as she wished that she could have a similar relationship with Sherlock.

She didn't notice that every time he deduced, he looked to her too, with apparent hope warming his eyes. As Sherlock would say, she saw but did not observe (no matter how much she practiced).

Sherlock was far less open with updating her with his doings over the past five years, mumbling something about mind palaces, cases, having measles and his older brother moving out.

She did learn that his mother WAS Violet Holmes, they lived in a crumbling old mansion in the middle of rural Wiltshire and had their very own vineyards and bee hives, something Sherlock took great pleasure from.

She also got his phone number.

Eventually, though, there were no more rides to go on, no more sweets to eat or games to win, and the sun was beginning to set. It was with a heavy heart she said goodbye to the two boys, sadly turning down John's offer of a room for the night. The bus ride back was chilly and she wished she had thought to bring a jumper, but the weather had been so glorious that she hadn't thought she'd need it.

The almost violent vibration o her phone in her pocket shocked her out of her lonely daze, coming at just the right time for her to stop the bus and get off. She looked at her phone once shut in the privacy of her room, a wide smile gracing her lips as she realised who it was from.

Sherlock.

She hadn't even given him her number!

DID YOU KNOW THAT WHILST A SMALL NUMBER OF SPECIES OF ANIMAL ARE KNOWN TO MATE FOR LIFE (WITH SOME EXCEPTIONS WITHIN SAID SPECIES), BUT MONOGAMY IS NOT AN INHERENT CHARACTERISTIC IN AROUND 98% OF ANIMALS. I THOUGHT YOU WOULD APPRECIATE THIS. AS IT SEEMS THAT HUMANITY SEEKS TO STRIP ALL SENSE OF ITS BASE ANIMALISTIC NATURE AND GO AGAINST THE NATURAL INSTINCTS TO WIDEN THE GENE POOL BY PROCREATING WITH A WIDE VARIETY OF DNA SPECIMENS IN ORDER FOR SENTIMENT TO WIN. I THINK YOU WOULD BE A GOOD MONOGAMOUS PARTNER, MOLLY. SH.

Realistically, only one person would find that interesting. Well, only one boy her age would think it was. She, however, looked deeper than the surface "interest" and saw that he was in effect saying that when their biological urges overset them and the need to procreate and widen the gene pool seized them, in a decade or so's time, then he considered her to be his best biological match.

She sent back one word.

AWWWWWW. Molly x

MOLLY THAT WAS NOT MEANT TO BE SWEET. IT WAS EDUCATIONAL. SH.

Educational and SWEET, Sherlock. Molly x

IF YOU INSIST MOLLY. ENJOY YOUR REST. SH.

I will, you too. Molly xx

She typed the extra kiss nervously, trepidation roiling in her stomach, hoping he didn't read further into it than he should considering the nature of the initiation of their conversation.

:) SH

She chuckled wryly, noting that even her thoughts had begun to echo his speech patterns.

She snuggled under her thin duvet and slept, dreaming of the old stories she had created, fairies saving pirates and crocodiles attempting to eat them both.

* * *

GOOD MORNING MOLLY HOOPER. I TRUST YOUR REST WAS SUITABLY LONG, CHILDREN OUR AGE NEED AT LEAST EIGHT HOURS SLEEP IN ORDER TO DEVELOP AT A HEALTHY RATE. CAN I COME OVER? SH

She awoke to the sound of her message tone, smiling again as she read the message with sleep encrusted eyes.

Then frowned when she realised the time.

06:48 am?

NO. GO BACK TO SLEEP. Molly x

CAN'T. CAN I COME OVER. SH

LATER. I NEED TO SLEEEEEEP. Molly x

YOU ALREADY HAD YOUR REQUIRED EIGHT HOURS MOLLY. ANY MORE WOULD BE A WASTE OF GOOD DAYLIGHT. CAN. I. COME. OVER? SH

Fine, since you're obviously not going to let me get any more sleep. But still later. Molly x

I FOUND A DEAD BIRD. NOT RECENT. PROGRESSION OF DECAY IS SOMEWHAT ADVANCED. SUN IS AT OPTIMUM HEIGHT TO GIVE EXCELLENT LIGHTING WITHOUT UNFORTUNATE SIDE EFFECTS OF EXCESS HEAT. PLEASE? SH

FINE. Molly x

PERFECT. LET ME IN PLEASE. SH.

She groaned and rolled out of bed, running on tiptoes down the stairs to the front door where a very excited Sherlock stood.

"What are you doing finding dead birds so early?!," she hissed at him, "and how the hell did you get out of the Watson's house?!"

He had the good grace to look mildly sheepish, pulling on a loose thread of his burgundy jumper (a colour that Molly noticed looked very good on him) and shuffling from foot to foot.

"I wanted to see you. You're more interesting than John, and he snores. I couldn't sleep. Please, Molly, I found a really big dead cormorant on the beach we could go look at? We'd be back before Ma knew you were gone."

She paused, then gestured for him to come in and wait by the door and ran to Ma, writing a note saying she'd gone for a walk on the beach and should be back by half eight.

Grabbing her shoes, she threw on a jumper over her flannel pyjamas and dragged a brush through her waist length hair, then ran back down the stairs to find Sherlock rifling through the books on the shelf.

"The people who own this house are Dutch, had three children and two dogs, the husband smokes and hides it from his wife and they own three other properties in Scotland, Ireland and Spain respectively."

He looked at her almost warily, as though expecting to be rebuked for deducing so early in the morning.

"Well I am sure they're very happy with their four houses. Spain?"

"Oh! The atlas (in Dutch) has pages bent and are (or were) frequently looked at in Spain, Southern Ireland, Scotland and west Wales."

She smiled encouragingly at him.

"So it's really that simple?"

"Yeah. For me. Other people find it more difficult though. I think you'll be good at it though, you're already better than me at determining causes of death!"

The excitement in his voice was contagious and she couldn't help but begin to be interested in the dead cormorant. She'd never seen one before, so it would be a new experience.

They set off, Molly informing him of her life since they had last shared a holiday (they hadn't gotten to her yesterday) and Sherlock listening raptly, drinking in all she was saying.

She wondered if she should stop, as surely hearing about Mary Morstan ripping her own fingernail off in PE couldn't be that interesting, nor was hearing about two boys in the sixth form getting caught kissing in the science labs.

And yet he didn't seem to want her to stop, asking her questions whenever her voice trailed off, smiling more in those thirty minutes than she thought he had in the entire five years since they had seen each other last. (Proper smiles, not the empty kind she'd seen him direct at most adults, a kind of pained twitch of his lips joined by a funny little squint full of disdain.)

Even with John she had noticed a tendency to be careful with his smiles, only allowing him to see the cool, determined boy he sought to be, never fully relaxing his guard.

It seemed that she was compensating, smiling brightly nonstop. Her cheeks were already hurting as she laughed at some half joke he had unwittingly made, making him flush and grin. He may not have understood his significance in her life, and she may have had little to none in his (which she rather thought might be the case, charm bracelet notwithstanding) but in that morning of brilliant sunshine and dissecting a truly massive dead bird (the smell was oppressive even for her, maggots wriggling in every crevice and feathers falling in clumps from its mottled skin) neither of them would have changed a single thing.

She wished time could stand still, that school could go and hang itself and life could be lived forever at this peaceful age, their only worry being how their parents were going to react to the blood and maggot juice that had saturated their clothes.

The walk back up was unpleasant, adults and other children sneering at them and calling them freaks or going to far as to actually vomit ( a commodity that Sherlock found especially amusing) at the smell of them ( and truthfully she was rather worried about how Ma and Pa were going to take it).

They still had fun though. Sherlock had the idea of turning it into a game, to help increase her deductive reasoning (he just wanted to hear her voice) and it actually did seem to help.

The set of a persons jaw indicated whether they had a strong stomach, the slump of their shoulders indicated strength of character and so on.

She deduced 16 correctly, failing the first ten completely and then getting the hang of it as Sherlock described what to look for and (of course) correctly identified each and every reaction out of the twenty nine people they came across after starting the game.

She had even managed to coax a laugh out of him, a deep belly one that he had to stop and mean against the wall to catch his breath for, which only made her laugh harder, spurring him on.

That laugh was cut short when they rounded the corner to find four very angry parents and one mildly irritated boy stood outside the house, Ma and Pa looking disappointed in her whilst John's parents glowered at her, seeming to accuse her with only their eyes.

"Well children, have anything to say for yourselves?"

Molly looked to Sherlock for support then launched into a rambling explanation, "Well, you see. John snores and woke Sherlock up so he texted me and then he was here and there was a dead bird and the sea and we were laughing and basically I'm sorry for the inconvenience:-"

"Molly, stop. Mr and Mrs Watson, I was bored and sought out my very good friend Molly Hooper, who happens to be staying nearby. I did not expect to be so long nor did I expect you to worry. Our mutual fascination with death led to a number of experiments and a deeper autopsy than either of us have ever performed. The bird was also rather large."

The parents ( well...not hers. Hers were used to it) looked green as the wind picked up, wafting the scent towards them. Seizing her chance, Molly smirked and whispered "mrs: vomit, mr: cough, John: both."

Sherlock smirked in return, grabbing her hand and squeezing it in affirmation. She felt a light tingling from where his grimy hand was clutching hers spread up her arm and throughout her body, making her feel almost like she was being electrocuted. Mildly.

"Three...two...one..."

Mrs Watson went even paler then ran for the nearest bushes, Mr Watson coughing and spluttering, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. John attempted to copy his dad but then projectile vomited over him instead, spraying Sherlock and Molly's shoes as well as his dad's front. Sherlock couldn't hold in his laugh, as Molly failed to keep a straight face. Only Ma and Pa looked normal, used to the stench by now thanks to Molly's unusual hobby.

A small smile played at the corner of Ma's lips as she fought to keep a straight face.

Sherlock whispered to her again, "Ma is okay with us, she doesn't like the Watson's as they came over accusing you of all sorts, luring me away. I swear. The world is made up of idiots!"

She hissed at him to shut up as they all slowly recovered, the shock wearing off slightly and the wind blowing the smell back towards the beach. She kept a suitably chastised expression on her face, which hardened as they two adults began to talk about them as though they weren't there, and criticising her Ma and Pa for allowing her to do such dangerous things.

They took it too far when they threatened to call social services.

Molly positively vibrated with anger, which seemed to spread to Sherlock as he reamed off a litany of reasons why THEY should be reported and not her parents,from emotional neglect to both their children to failing to notice their daughter's anorexia and drinking habits.

John didn't even think about standing up for them.

It seemed that Sherlock had made an enemy of his best friend's parents, which potentially left him without a room to stay in for the rest of the week. Poor John was left in the horrid position of having to choose his friend or his family. (Sherlock knew he would win out eventually.)

They all looked at each other with mixed expressions, Sherlock; mild disdain, the Watson's; disgust and horror, her parents'; entertainment lined their eyes whilst they fought to keep the smiles off their faces. Molly was equally triumphant (she'd never made someone sick before) and mortified (again, she had never made anyone sick before) as she stood facing them. They were terribly outnumbered and were definitely in the wrong.

Sherlock's hand brushed hers then twined his fingers with hers, squeezing them lightly.

"Boy, we are calling your parents. They can come and ge-"

"Dad! That not fair! He's my best friend, don't send him away!"

"John! Listen to your father. He is perfectly within his rights after all he has out us through so far. It's only been three days..."

John burst into tears, something Molly had not anticipated in the slightest, and ran to the car screaming that he hated his Dad.

"Well as I was saying before my prissy of a son interrupted with that little show. You have to go home. Immediately. You're not coming back to ours. Not in our car anyway. We'll bring your stuff back when we return and after that I want you to leave my son alone. He is a nice, normal boy and ever since h has known you he has been getting soft, crying, expressing feelings and I will not stand for it. Leave him alone, boy."

Molly risked a glance at Ma. She honestly couldn't hold back the smile as she recognised her 'beware of the overprotective mother bear' expression.

"Mr Watson. I find your attitude to both of those boys, not to mention your horrible assumptions about my daughter's virtue, to be emotionally damaging. Too many young boys are growing up repressing their emotions and yet you have the gall to call your son "prissy"? He is entitled to have emotions. He is a child still! Sherlock is welcome to stay here, and can stay with us whenever, as I would feel remiss in my duties as a responsible adult in allowing him back into your home. Bring his clothing and other items here, if you please, and then I genuinely hope to never set eyes on you or your wife ever again. Your poor children."

With that, she took hold of Molly's hand and tugged her into the house, the grip on her arm almost bruising as she tugged Sherlock along in her wake. She had the strongest urge to stick her tongue out at the two gobsmacked adults, who had not expected her petite mother, who in all honesty looked like she could no more say boo to a mouse never mind a goose, to stand up for her child and Sherlock in such a verbose manner.

"Thank you, Mrs Hooper, for saying I can stay with you. I don't want to be a bother though, so if you want me to go home, I will."  
Molly stared at Sherlock in shock, her mouth dropping open as she realised she had never heard him thank anyone sincerely (except her) without being prompted.

Pride surged through her.

"Sherlock Holmes. You will be staying here for the remainder of our holiday. This is your holiday too, honey, and I will not allow some dunderheaded nincompoop say that you aren't allowed to enjoy yourself too! It's not as though your hurt anyone."

The smile he gave Ma was radiant, as it took Molly's breath away and made her forget that they both stank of death and maggot juice as she pulled Sherlock over to Ma and forced them into a three way hug. Ma's eyes were watering when they pulled away but whether that was the stench of death or the sentiment behind it (Sherlock had been more than willing, evidently) she couldn't be sure.

They went to sleep that night in Molly's bed, Sherlock insisting he needed an easy form of serotonin, and the only way was for them to be touching all night.

She didn't buy it, not in the slightest, but allowed the comfort he sought. In all honesty, she revelled in their closeness and hoped to help ease some of the hurt that had flashed in his eyes as Mr Watson had spewed such terrible, horrible things at him.

That same hurt he had managed to hide from all of them, even John, forcing it behind a mask of disdain she knew he didn't feel.

She smiled to herself in the darkness as his head burrowed into her shoulder, tentatively curling his arm around her waist and sighing against her warmth. She let her hand run up and down his back in a movement Ma had always soothed her with then tangled the other in his dark curls. He let out an almost purr that made her chuckle silently until he tensed.

"Sherlock, it's all right. I wasn't laughing at you, I just found it sweet. I never thought your head would be so sensitive..."

He relaxed back against her and they slept soundly til late morning, when her parents woke them with horrified shock (on her Pa's side) and gentle smiles (from Ma) and a whole heap of presents.

She didn't feel like she needed anything else; waking up to Sherlock was more than she had ever allowed herself to imagine, never mind waking up to him pressed fully against her back, head resting in the curve of her shoulder and his hand around her stomach, unconsciously rubbing circles in her flesh. It had made her want to kiss him.

God help her, at just thirteen years old, Molly Hooper had fallen in love.


	5. Sun On Sunday

So thank you again to everyone following/showing such great support for this! Her age is now sixteen.

Special mention must, I feel, go to the lovely Loveroffandoms, Graceful Murder X.x, Moojichaw947 and finally zeynel, as you really hit the nail on the head with explaining why Mr Watson is so horrid here. Plus I feel like Molly gets her later confidence from her mum's side, perhpas losing it after a death. Or am I foreshadowing now...? ;) And yes, the "horrified shock" was far more a "oh Sh*t, my baby is nearly not a baby anymore and there are going to be mornings when I walk in and they'll have not been sleeping". Enjoy! Angst in this chapter. Lots and lots of angst. I apologise :(

* * *

The two and a half years spent texting Sherlock were the best Molly could remember, as she grew in confidence and knew that no matter who else came into or left her life, Sherlock would be there, as well as Ma and Pa.

Until the morning when that no longer rang true.

The morning of the eighteenth of January would be forever etched into her memory as the day that her life crumbled apart.

For all intents and purposes, it started off as innocently as any other morning had. She woke up. She went to school. She had Maths, English and Biology, then lunch.

She went to History in the afternoon. She remembers distinctly that they were learning about the wider economic and political effects of the Wall Street Crash, throughout the 'modern world'.

Until she wasn't.

Until Mr Wilkins, the Headmaster, stepped cautiously into the classroom, eyes trying desperately to hide the pain within and failing miserably.

His mouth had opened and shut soundlessly for almost a half a minute in a way that she would usually have found comical if it hadn't been for the grave expression and the horrid sense of dread that had been plaguing her since lunch.

"Molly, dear, would you please step outside with me," he had said to her, his usually brusque voice soft and gentle, and she had known something terrible, something utterly horrific had occurred.

She had been numb as she had gathered her things on autopilot, sliding her books noiselessly back into her bag, pens slipping through her fingers to clatter loudly in their case until she zipped it shut, placing it in her bag and rising out of her seat, smiling wanly at Tess and Emma, her two friends, before following the large man out of the room, down a winding, endless corridor and into his room. To her waiting father.

"Molly..."

Pa's thin shoulders seemed thinner, his face ghostly as he looked at her.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It's... It's your mother. She... She's..." He broke into loud, wet sobs, clutching her to his chest and almost crushing her to him.

She couldn't breathe, or speak. She just hugged her Pa back as tightly as he was hugging her, trying to allow the news to settle in.

"She's... dead?"

It had come out surprisingly steady. Her voice hadn't caught, she hadn't shook or railed against the gods.

Dead.

Death was nothing new to her, of course, but now it wielded something of a sharper blade than it had before. It burned, sliced, gouged and tore through her, but she concealed it. Drew some unknown reserves of strength to hide her pain in the face of Pa's obvious agony.

She had wanted to cry. The pain and anger coursing through her had all but demanded she cause someone else pain, just to release it.

She couldn't, though.

Pa had just nodded, jerkily, against her shoulder.

"How?"

"Oh, Molly, you don't want to know," Pa choked out before breaking, tears soaking her school jumper and the shuddering of his shoulders leeching through her, until she was vibrating with energy, which she had though was grief until she realised it was anger, hot and heavy, coursing through her and causing her push Pa away almost violently.

"No. You don't get to not tell me. I deserve to know." In her anger, her voice came out as a barely heard hiss that nonetheless seemed to echo around the room.

"Molly, she was, she, she was m-murdered. This morning."

Her heart had seemed to stop, her breath catching and escaping in a drawn out hiss of barely suppressed pain. And yet, still she hasn't cried.

God help her, but she had pitied him. She pitied the helplessness that rang in his voice, the edge of defeat he was desperately trying to hide from her, the pitiful slump of his shoulders and the death of the hopeful spark that had lit his eyes for the entirety of her life. The anger and grief she felt were being pushed into determination, and she /knew/ that it was wrong, that she should be crying with him but all she wanted to do was to find the person who had taken her Ma from her. She had never felt such anger in her life, the pure rage filled every crevice of her soul and had forced her to ask what she most dreaded to know.

"How. What did they do to her?"

God but her voice had been cold. Clinical. Pa had flinched at her tone, drawing on some heretofore unknown reserves of strength to tell her.

"They found her, in the alley, by the house," he had paused, studying her closed expression, before drawing his grief to him like a strengthening cloak and continuing, "she was stabbed. Several times. Her... Her innards... They... It was brutal, Molly."

She had stilled even further, her hot anger cooling to a frozen hatred.

"They? More than one?"

He had merely nodded, and hurried to placate her.

"The police are looking into it, they're doing all they can. They'll find them. Soon."

She had nodded once, a sharp, jerky tilt if her head more than anything. The police in their area were less than competent, most rapes and murders going unpunished for years. In the better scenarios.

She had resolved to find them herself. She had had to consciously fight the determined set of her jaw lest Pa deduced her plans from her face

There had been only one person she trusted to catch those barbarians, only one person in the world who would truly understand why she had to find them. It wasnt just vengeance, not even then. It was the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline that would course through her veins when she trapped them:- and she would trap them, she would work as bait if needed, just to stop them from getting away with it.

Which was why, half a year and seven failed friendships later, she was sat bound on the dirty floor of a London flat.

She observed the figure in front of her, wriggling her wrists against the tight ropes experimentally, taking stock of any and all possible escape routes.

One door. Locked from the inside. He has the only key. Possible guard on front door. Stairwell outside door, both ascending and descending. No way off roof, terraced building. Possible link to adjoining buildings through attic.

The ropes around her wrists were expertly tied. Feet bound with the same kind of white nylon rope, sold from supermarkets to hardware stores in every city and town in the UK.

She sighed loudly and addressed the shadowy figure in front of her.

"Don't tell me you're going for the 'mysterious stranger' look, now? All this shadow only works if you're a villain."

He huffed out a half laugh, half irritated grunt, coming back into the light. His cheeks had hollowed even further since three years before, he had grown somehow paler, his curls raven black and still riotous across his forehead, a long, black and very expensive coat with its collar turned up to contrast with his pallor graced his willowy frame and a blood red scarf nestled between his throat and coat.

Sherlock Holmes was a very striking looking young man at the grand old age of fifteen and three quarters.

His wit was unparalleled, his deductive genius rivalled even his brothers' and he showed affection to all of four people in the entire world. She thought herself more than privileged to be counted as one of them.

It was due to this that she had turned to him for help. The police had come to a standstill within a week of investigating Ma's murder, and it had taken her five months to concede defeat and go to him for help.

She had been astounded to discover he had been investigating the murder from the start, as well as he could whilst being sequestered away in Eton. The distance between the high end London school and her small three bed house (Ma and Pa had wanted to have two children but infertility had struck them after Molly's birth) had caused Sherlock's usually quick crime solving to be somewhat delayed.

He had also been hunting for concrete evidence with which to pin the crimes to the perpetrators, an endeavour she had never heard him undertake before.

She had been oddly touched.

"Molly. I'm cultivating my mysterious consulting detective image. What better way than by practising with you?"

A smirk pulled at the comers of his lips as she resumed her struggles, finally succeeding in freeing her wrists.

"Only took you... Four minutes and fifteen seconds this time. Not your best, but I did tighten the bonds significantly this time."

She scanned the room, taking in any potentially booby trapped items.

For a change, he hadn't booby trapped everything within sight. Once her ankles were free, she could escape semi easily.

"I'm surprised at you, Sherlock! I was certain you'd have had some swords or something in place for me to impale myself on, and yet... I find myself somewhat disappointed."

His eyebrow twitched upwards, a skill she was inordinately jealous of, as he always looked effortlessly cool and sophisticated when doing so.

"Is raising that eyebrow an inherited trait or is it taught in snob school?" She was proud of the speed of the quip, smirking as he glowered for a moment.

"Is that cheekiness inherent or taught in chav school?" Sherlock responded just as quickly, that one eyebrow still raised infuriatingly, making her want to smooth it down and force his face into the usual bland expression he wore.

She stamped down the impulse, swallowing audibly as he moved closer to her, no doubt reading the change in her thought processes in her face.

Just like every other time.

He finally reached her, crouching close to her ear and murmured softly, "Your body betrays itself, my dear. There is every chance your would be attackers will have a 'kind' one, who you will latch onto your desperation, who will ultimately betray you. You need to temper your reactio-: ooof!"

Despite his breath fanning across her cheeks, his lips brushing tantalisingly over her ear and causing her insides to turn to figurative mush, she had taken advantage of his own distraction (she had noticed that his pupils had dilated, too, when she had semi-unconsciously bitten her lower lip) and launched herself at him, taking his hand and wrenching it behind his back as she straddled him, flat on his front.

She absently noticed that he had a... Very nice... Bum.

He struggled for a moment, dazed, as she took the rope previously tied securely around her own wrists and tied his together as he had taught her.

Through the indignation in his endless blue eyes, she thought she saw amusement, pride and respect for her warring for dominance as she finished the knots.

"You need to temper your own reactions, Master Holmes."

Amusement won and he started chuckling, Molly waiting for a moment to see if this was some clever ruse to distract her again before joining in wholeheartedly. She rolled off him, allowing him some air and to roll himself on to his back, tears of mirth dotting the creases of her eyes as she gasped for breath.

Really, it wasn't even that funny.

Yet as she laughed, the weight of anger and helplessness seemed to slide off her, as she fully accepted that Sherlock would help her, they would trap her mother's murderers and they would find a new normal to sink into.

She don't realise her tears of happiness had morphed into fully formed sobs until she felt Sherlock wrap his arms tentatively around her middle, drawing her head to his chest (she briefly wondered when he had broken free) and dropping a chaste kiss to her forehead.

She had no idea how long they stayed like that, wrapped tightly in each others' embrace until Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and she registered the goosebumps that had erupted across her bare arms.

He tilted her chin up to look into her eyes and her heart stopped again as she tried to pull away, embarrassed, but stopped when she realised Sherlock was a lot stronger than his wiry frame suggested, his one arm holding her in place.

"Molly Hooper. Sentiment is not, shall we say, my forte, but I believe you have just made a break through in your personal road to moving past this tragedy. However, won't your father be anxious as to where you are?"

She met his eyes fiercely, despite the edge of dejection she knew was evident in her own. Letting him deduce whether or not her dear Pa was going to worry about her wellbeing.

"Ah. My apologies, Molly. I hadn't.. Realised."

Meaning he hadn't allowed himself to deduce her. Not on her birthday. How sweet of him, she thought sarcastically.

She didn't need his gentle touch, his kindness. His pity.

No. He didn't do pity. Any sentiment he felt at her plight was genuine and pity was the least of any sentiment he would feel.

The fact he had remembered, and had attempted to distract her from the sadness of the day, the obvious dismissal of the day's importance by her father and her own pangs of loneliness and despair buoyed her temporarily, allowing her to accept his comfort and his embraces as he did his utmost to aid her in every way he deemed it possible.

"My father hasn't looked at me for over four months. I could disappear tomorrow and not return for a month and he wouldn't notice," she paused as he attempted to interject, " no, Sherlock, it's true. My father died the same day as my mother, and we both know it. He's killing himself and there is nothing I can do to stop him, except bring the bastards that did this to justice. Is.. Is it alright if I stay here tonight? I don't want to go back to that place."

There were too many memories there, crowding her whenever she did anything mundane, even just cleaning the kitchen after making herself and her Pa a meal that neither of them ate much of.

Her home was no longer a home, merely four walls and a bed to rest in between her studies and her training.

"Of course. I was hoping you'd ask, as it happens. I have something planned for tonight that I think you will appreciate."

The awkward air of smugness and hesitance that was quintessential Sherlock melted the last of her icy demeanour, as she settled back into his arms on the floor of 221B Baker Street.


	6. You Light The Spark In My Bonfire Heart

Sorry for yet another long wait between updates! Working hour are conspiring against me, and any day I have off seems to be spent sleeping. As usual, please do point out any spelling or grammatical errors, I truly appreciate it. You're all lovely.

In return I'll make the happiness return in two (or so) more chapters! Once the mystery of Molly's Ma's death is solved!

* * *

Blinking in the relative gloom of Sherlock's bedroom, Molly searched her brain to remember the events of the night before. The low thudding of her heart seemed to boom in an endless cacophony in her head as she cautiously sat up, pulling the blanket with her. Her sinuses felt blocked and stuffy, as if she were coming down with a cold and the pounding in her head, now she could bear to focus on it, was intensely concentrated behind her eyes.

Ah yes.

The dam had broken, her emotions had poured tsunami-like over Sherlock as she had sat wrapped in his embrace and after the storm had passed he had pressed his lips to her cheek and brought her up to the roof.

For a city with so much light pollution, the stars had been unbelievably bright.

For a boy well known for his disdain for "unnecessary" knowledge (like the solar system), he had known all the constellations visible in the sky, pointing out 'her' star, the wolf star, the North Star, the Big Dipper... Which to be fair, even she had been able to spot.

They had lain on the flat area of roof by the upstairs room of the flat Mycroft was renting for the two of them to use; Sherlock had confessed this to her when she had questioned him on his unusual living arrangements, and had expressed his brother's willingness to aid their search.

That young man was going to be someone important, one day, she was sure of it.

She had drifted off to sleep resting against his chest, his long, talented fingers sliding through her hair as he hummed the periodic table song, which even in her sleep addled state she had found endearing.

Or perhaps it was due to her sleep addled state?

She didn't know. It seemed that everything this wonderful, brilliant young man did made her feel things she had never felt for anyone else and, if she were honest with herself, never wanted anyone else to make her feel. She knew she loved him, would do almost anything for him if he asked, and knew he would never ask anything of her that she was unwilling (or unable) to give.

Everything he was doing for her went beyond the call of simple friendship duties, and all he had asked for in return had been her trust; something she had given him long ago, at the tender age of not-quite-six.

She laughed at the absurdity of their situation. Ten years had passed since that first summer, when Fleur had had an adventure and fallen right into the arms of the boy lying next to her on the bed, arm wrapped protectively around her waist, other hand playing with her hair even in sleep. She sighed and pushed back against him, willing herself to fall back into repose, loathe to wake him from his well deserved rest.

His breath fanning across her neck in a drawn out sigh was her first warning of his awakening; the second was a slow, deliberate stretching of his fingers where they rested against her stomach, before he curled them into talons against her flesh-

Her answering shriek to his fingers' feather-light but utterly infuriating tickling brushed the last few lingering tendrils of sleep forcefully from both their minds as she rolled away from him, not expecting him to roll with her, finding themselves pressed against each other at the side of the bed.

"Ooof! Sherlock, you great lump, get off me!"

His smirk was visible even in the gloom as he deliberately allowed more of his weight to press against her.

"I don't think I will, Molly. I rather think our position to be rather fortuitous."

With an almost invisible movement, he pressed her hands together above her head and clicked shut a pair of sturdy metal (standard police issue, filched) around them.

"You... Complete and utter dick! Dammit Sherlock, I had things to do today!"

"And now you get to practice picking locks. On your very own set of handcuffs."

"Picking the locks with what exactly? You've given me nothing... Oh."

His smirk only grew as she settled into a more comfortable position.

"You want me to practice... Seducing an attacker?"

"Purely to discover the location of a hidden key. Of course, on a professional criminal this won't work, as he will be well versed in methods of escape, but for the average idiot this should suffice."

"Ordinary criminals like to talk a lot."

"Indeed. They also have easily identified weaknesses, as long as you know where to look."

"Your weakness is boredom."

"Indeed."

"You also like hearing about death. And the sound of your own voice."

"I cannot help that the vast majority of the six and a half billion people currently living on this earth happen to be idiots. Besides, you like the sound of my voice as well. Why not pander to both our needs? And you also find death intriguing."

"Of course. But this is not about me. You don't succumb to feminine wiles."

"Certainly not!"

"You need me to acknowledge your genius. If I do, you will preen and give me an opening to frisk you."

"Frisk, miss Hooper?"

"Frisk, mister Holmes."

The tinny sound and resounding click of the key turning in the lock of the cuffs was the only sound for a long moment before Sherlock gave an approving grunt and started to push his weight off her body.

Her hands, which had resumed their position near her head, came to rest on his shoulders, stopping further withdrawal on his part. He looked down into her dark eyes, made darker by the dim light and the faintest hint of-

No. He tamped down that thought process, 'it's just transport' echoing like a mantra through his mind.

"Thank you, for helping me. You have no idea how much this means to me."

Her voice was soft and earnest, her lips curved into a gentle, rueful smile as she gazed up at him.

"It's not a problem, Molly."

His breath hitched in his throat as her lids lowered slightly, eyes dropping to his lips as he licked them quickly, nervously, mantra forgotten.

Their mingling breaths made it even harder to breathe as he sucked in her sweet scent, his mind clouding.

"Do you mind?"

"Yes. I mean no! No, it's fine, Molly..."

Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging slightly at the roots and he stifled a startled moan as she pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his in entirely a different way to how their other kisses had been.

He felt like his lips were burning, heat flaring outwards from where their fleshed touched and he moaned louder as her tongue touched his lip tentatively. He opened his mouth to her gentle probing, ceding dominance to her. Far from being unsure or nervous (like him, a traitorous voice in his mind whispered) she seemed entirely comfortable as she slid her tongue against his, drawing out whimpers and moans almost against his volition.

Her brown eyes sparkled with mirth and barely suppressed happiness as she pulled away to breathe, smoothing his hair down away from his face.

He turned away sharply, thoughts speeding through his mind at a thousand knots yet he was entirely unable to grasp any single one of them. They veered away when he attempted to latch on to one, like the little silver fish they had once stood watching in their third summer together, shining and flashing in the summer sunlight.

She had kissed him.

And he had allowed it.

Even as part of his mind rebelled at the appalling grammar, a larger part revelled in the knowledge that she had wanted to kiss him.

He had enjoyed it.

The feel of her small hand on his shoulder brought him back to her, her breathing still ragged near his ear as she murmured softly to him that it need never happen again if he didn't want it to.

He stiffened beneath her.

"I do want it to. Soon, if you will allow it!"

Her hiss of indrawn breath brought his focus back to her face, cataloguing the emotions that flickered, much like his thoughts, across her expressive features.

Happiness.

Bewilderment.

Hurt?

Hurt. He had hurt her. By pulling away so sharply, he deduced, causing her to feel awkward and under par.

"Molly, I apologise for my hasty reaction... I genuinely enjoyed our kiss. However, such an abundance and overload of sensations and emotions are unusual for me, so I fear I reacted unpleasantly. Please, accept my most humble of apologies."

Her dimples showed as she smiled widely and threw her arms around his shoulders.

He allowed himself relax into her embrace, cursing his earlier reaction to her. He chanced a kiss to her temple, rejoicing internally at her slight exhale of happiness.

She breathed in deeply, relishing the feel of his scrawny body beneath the ratty t-shirt under her cheek and memorising his unique scent.

"Do you want to do something today? Like go to a museum or something? Something innocuous but useful, you can keep testing my deductive technique?"

She watched him silently, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as he weighed the pros and cons in his mind.

"Perhaps we could go to the natural history museum? Deduce approximate cause of death for a number of the exhibits, dinosaurs perhaps?"

She smiled at him, relieved: she had feared she had pushed him away, forced him to retreat into that glorious mind of his to fully appreciate and understand the implications of her actions.

She didn't fully understand them herself.

Throwing on clean clothes, dragging a brush through her hair and cleaning her teeth as thoroughly as possible considering Sherlock's lack of toothpaste, she waited impatiently at the door to the flat as he bumbled slowly around, murmuring about scarves and handcuffs.

She huffed, mock irritated, until he turned to her with a twinkle of mirth brightening his eyes and all but ran to his room, emerging two minutes later dressed impeccably in a pair of dark blue jeans, rich purple shirt and a long black coat draped over one arm.

She could hardly help the way her eyes scanned his frame, appreciating the cut and colour of his shirt and how it darkened his unruly curls.

Of course, he ruined the 'good boy' look by smirking cockily at her.

She snorted delicately and marched down the stairs, giggling as she herd his almost frantic hurrying nearer and squealing happily when he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet, gasping at him to put her down.

He did. Eventually (after several cabs ignored them and his patience had run thin).

They took a cab to the museum, Sherlock quizzing her on what se could deduce about the people they passed.

He seemed impressed when there was very little she didn't miss.

She stunned him into silence when she deduced that a new mother would be leaving her husband within the month not, as Sherlock had deduced, due to his infidelity, but due to a deep seated hatred of all he stood for (she assumed he was a lawyer or politician, a typically hated job).

Their afternoon passed quickly, too quickly for her liking, and all too soon she found herself on the train back to the small railway station in the centre of her town, wishing she could have stayed just one more day, hour, minute even. Alas, her grandmother was due to arrive within the next day or so and Ma would have been mortified had her mother walked into their house (she couldn't bear to call it home any more) with it in the state her father was sure to have allowed it to degenerate into.

Not that Pa cared in the slightest.

Her grandmother (she had always hated the term, had struggled over it in her younger years and even now felt stiff and awkward when addressing her thus) would be there to determine whether Molly would be better off living with her or staying with her father. Loathe him as she did (his actions-or lack thereof- more so than him), she could not bear to think of him rattling around the house even more alone. She would take the stilted silences, perforated only by her hesitant pleas for him to eat over the overbearing older woman's old fashioned attempts to make her into a good marriageable girl, destined to spend her life adhering to her mans's every whim, keeping her house clean and ensuring their evening meal was on the table upon his return for the evening.

She had never envisaged that future for herself, with the two point five kids and a quiet suburban house in a quiet suburban cul de sac, with a dog and perhaps a pair of gold fish.

She would take her fathers silence and be grateful.

Her phone chiming in her pocket alerted her to an incoming call, Leona Lewis' Bleeding Love blaring out of the small speakers and betraying the caller.

Sherlock.

(She felt almost ridiculous, having such a sentimental song as his ringtone, but he had never commented upon it and it added to the ruse they had settled upon in the case of his involvement with her bringing unwanted attention. He was her 'boyfriend'.)

"Hello, honey! It's only been four minutes, surely you haven't missed me that much already?"

There was a pause as he digested her honeyed words. She could practically hear the wheels of his mind turning as he decided to play along.

His voice, though tinny, carried in the train car.

"Madeline? Darling, you left your toothbrush here. I know you could just buy another one once you get home but I would feel terrible knowing you had to go out so late to purchase something you could easily pop back to get. Should I wait for you at the station, Maddie?"

She smiled fondly (it's an act, Molly!) and laughed lightly, childishly, down the phone, appearing to concede defeat.

"You're completely right, Samuel. It'll be horrendously late once I get home and waiting for the next train will be less bother than going all the way out to the town to get a new one. I will see you in a minute, Sam, dear. Love you."

There was silence again.

"I love you too, Madeline. See you soon."

She clicked her phone shut, giggling at the pointed looks she was getting from a few of the more irritated passengers.

It had to be important, he never used her alias unless it was sure. Perhaps his brother had unearthed something.

She pushed the thoughts aside as she fought her way down the aisle, snagging an attendant and explaining her "situation", making sure to laugh embarrassedly at the right moments.

It was frighteningly easy to manipulate them.

She grabbed her glasses out of her bag ( she had developed headaches at around the age of ten and demanded to have an eye test at thirteen, three weeks after her birthday. She just never wore her glasses unless strictly necessary.) and jammed them on her nose, blinking rapidly at the sudden clarification of what had been an endless bustle of people shaped blurs. (She had once again forgotten to put in her contacts; they'd been in her bag, in the upstairs room, and she hadn't had to go up there til she left, resulting in a day spend squinting at... Everything.)

Just in time to see a thick, muscular arm wrap tightly around a young girl, around her age with similar hair colour and stature and haul her off to a different platform. The absence of screams and struggling left her in no doubt that the girl had been drugged, in addition to the slumping occurring and the dragging of her left foot.

Her heart beat out a rapid tattoo against her chest as she hurried to find the next train going back to paddington station (and thanking the heavens that there was one every three minutes or so), sweeping her hair from its usual right hand side parting to the left in a somewhat smooth motion she had seen other girls do effortlessly, straightening her posture and looking sure of herself. She became Madeline Howell, eldest daughter of a middle aged couple from Bournemouth, owner of two cats, prolific reader of any and all literature and what would be politely referred to as a sassy streak.

She thanked Sherlock for his lessons in becoming the alias, sure that at least now she had a chance of blending into the crowd, or at least being the opposite of what her captors were searching for. She knew they'd realise soon enough that the had taken the wrong girl.

The train arrived, she hopped on and found an empty seat in the middle of the car, to discourage anyone making a grab for her. To attempt to do so would cause a stir, alerting any authorities involved; better than nothing, even if they were mostly idiots.

Her phone rang again, the default ringtone for unknown calls.

She declined the call and immediately called Sherlock, smiling widely before he even picked up, turning the volume down to ensure nosy listeners could not hear that he wasn't talking.

"Samuel! Yes, it's me. Who else would it be at this time of day?!" (She laughed, hoped it didn't sound stilted.) " Yeah, I'm on the train. Can't wait to see you again! We're going to have such a good weekend, just you and me and the flat..."

His voice was little more than a low rumble that she found surprisingly pleasing, so she smiled again, a saucy, sly smile full of all the confidence she could muster.

"Of course, honey. It'll be fine. Oh, hang on, train has just arrived. See you in a moment!"

She hung up quickly, gathering her stuff and racing down the aisle as swiftly as possible, jostling people as she went. Thankfully, a lot of people wanted to get off there. She stuck in the crowd and waited til she saw the familiar curls lounging pseudo casually by a pillar and lunged from the centre of the group to reach him. His arms encircling her waist and his lips descending upon her lips had her relaxing into him, attempting to mould her body to his.

His chuckle of amusement vibrating through their joined lips made her reluctantly pull away, pouting slightly.

"I missed you too, my Maddie."

She pulled him eagerly away, all but running to hail a cab and go back to Baker Street.

Her grandmother could wait.


End file.
